Working With What You Have
by Tribble Master
Summary: John, Sam and Dean go to dig up a grave. It's a pretty standard salt and burn really. Except, Dean's in second grade and Sam's a toddler. What can I say? You just gotta work with what you have.


**disclaimer: **My job aplication with Krpkie is still pending. ... what? I'm working on it.

**Working With What You Have**

John Winchester was thrown into the oak tree. With all the style and grace of a one winged duck, he landed with a good solid thunk. He shook it off as he stood up. "Sam! Dean!" He called out to his sons. "Be careful!"

Sammy waved his spade in a friendly hello at his father and giggled. He turned back to the ground and continued to jab at it with his spade. He continued to talk animatedly to himself and an imaginary friend. John had his suspicions about 'imaginary friends' and made a note to check into that later.

The spirit of Leona Transkiy grinned and started walking towards John again with her arms held out menacingly. John groaned as he reached for his rifle and marched forward.

In front of the tombstone of Leona, Sam continued to dig. He thrust his shovel into the ground and yanked it out. Dirt flew haphazardly, as his little hole got deeper. Dean leaned against the tombstone and flicked John's sliver lighter open, mesmerized by the flame that kept reappearing. He shut it, opened it and flicked again, repeating the pattern. In school one of his second grade classmates had called him a pyro after he'd shared the lighter with the class. Dean didn't know what pyromaniac meant yet, but he did like watching the pretty flame.

Standing mere feet away, John continued to battle the vicious ghost. With one blast of the shotgun, Leona disappeared briefly. John touched his side and grimaced as he felt a bruise forming. "Fuck." He muttered.

Sam looked up brightly and chirped. "Fuck!"

John bit his tongue to resist the urge to spit more obscenities. Dean yawned and looked up. "Dad, can we go yet?"

John's right eye twitched, hardly noticeable, as he picked up the larger shovel. "Almost." He said in a strained voice.

He kicked the shovel into the ground and grunted as he removed dirt. Sam frowned. "Daddy, you're not doing it right." Sam tossed dirt back onto John had done. "Lookit what I can do." Sam then demonstrated by once more shoving the spade into the ground and yanking it out.

As he tugged the spade flew from his hand and hit Dean in the arm. Dean dropped the lighter, and his lip wobbled. "Daddy," he whined, "S'mmy hit me!"

"Dean." John said in a low growl that meant serious business. "Take your brother to the car."

Dean's nose wrinkled. "But the Impala smells funny."

"Do not insult the Impala, Dean." John looked down at his oldest son. He pointed at Sam who was reaching for the lighter. "Just take Sammy and go wait in the car."

Sam looked up at John with big brown eyes. "But Daddy…" He pointed his finger at the grave. "I wanna help."

John took a deep calming breath and set down his shovel. He picked Sam up and looked at his unbelievably short son. "Sam." He said as gently as he could. "Go with your brother to the car. Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Sam pouted as John set him down. "You're bossy." He grumbled and waddled towards Dean.

Dean looked up at John. John refused to say anymore on the matter and merely pointed in the general direction of the car. Taking Sam's hand, Dean slumped towards the car. John picked up his shovel and began digging again. Violently, and quickly John worked to uncover the bones of Leona before she reappeared.

As he watched them walk away, he could hear Missouri's voice at the back of his mind scolding him and waving a spoon. John silently agreed with her; it was reckless to have the kids be here. He swore that next time he would get a sitter no matter what. John had meant to get a sitter this time, but Bobby had declined by simply saying; ""I tole ya, I ain't baby sittin' again until you either replace my couch or potty train that youngin' o'yours!"

John remembered exactly which couch it was as he dug. Replacing the couch was out of the question, and he had silently applauded Sam for choosing to pee on the most hideous of Bobby's furniture. Still though, he had to work on Sam's issues. Motel owners were starting to claim that Sam qualified as part of the Pet Policy, and therefore not allowed to stay. Combined with Dean's new preference to play with a lighter, their housing situation was getting slimmer and slimmer. John didn't like to be reminded that he was given a lifetime ban from the Holiday Inn Franchise.

Behind him Leona Transkiy reappeared. She twisted her neck to get the kinks out of it. John gave a heavy sigh and set down his shovel. He picked up his riffle and aimed. Leona snarled and dodged as she ran at him. Adjusting the shot, Leona was dispersed again. John grabbed the shovel, and began to wearily continue his task. Two feet down, he started to whistle.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam pressed his palms against the glass and breathed heavily. As the glass fogged up he doodled on the car window. After drawing the 15th dinosaur on the window he started to question Dean. "What's taking Daddy so long?"

Dean shrugged as he flipped through the cassette collection. "I dunno."

Sam sat back in the seat and folded his arms over his chest. "I wanna go back to Unca Bobby's."

Dean continued to focus on the cassette tape. "Well then you shouldn't have messed up his couch."

"I'm not a baby Dee!" Sam whined.

Dean smiled as he held up a tape. "Yes, you are." He snapped and turned to put the tape in to the radio.

Sam stuck out his tongue. When he realized Dean wasn't going to pay attention to his temper tantrums, he used all his strength to push the car door open. Dean looked up as he felt fresh air waft into the Impala. "Sammy no!" he yelled, but it was too late.

Sam was already jumping out of the car, and scampering away.

Dean set down the box of cassettes and chased after his brother, back into the cemetery.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

John was getting sick of being thrown in to the solid oak two feet away. Every time he made a smidgen of progress Leona reappeared. The grave was now four feet deep, and with any luck he'd only have one broken arm by the time he hit her coffin. It was this sort of cheerful optimism that had made him widely despised in the marines.

With a groan, he stood up and fired his riffle. Once more, Leona disappeared for the time being. John stumbled back to the grave and began to dig. As he lifted another shovelful of dirt away, he smiled to himself. He was so much closer to her wooden casket, he just knew it.

John's entire upper torso was bruised, as long as and the tree didn't hug him again he would likely walk away without a single break, fracture or sprain. He started to whistle as his spirits picked, but then he heard it.

Off in the distance, it sounded like the mating call of a wounded animal. Or worse, as he feared it really was, it was two young children fighting at frequency that was almost painful to listen to. He looked up in the direction of the screeching noise fast approaching. From far away, it looked like a dust cloud approaching a NASCAR style speeds.

John suddenly found, that despite stiff and sore muscles, he was able to dig in record time. Any second, and he would reach the coffin lid. If Leona could just keep her spirit of his way, he'd be done with the whole affair shortly.

A familiar cackle lit up the night air.

"That bitch." John murmured under his breath. He jammed his shovel down and was pleasantly surprised to hear the thunk of something solid. John looked up, and prepared to jump out of her grave. He was going to have pry the coffin open.

Leona Transkiy helped John out of her grave. As John flew backwards, he landed just slightly to the left of the large oak. That in of itself was a miracle.

Meanwhile, the flying dust cloud had settled in the midst of the commotion, and separated in to two beings.

"Get off!" Sam shouted definitely.

"Go back to the car!" Dean pushed.

"Make me!" Sam stuck his tongue out.

Dean rolled up his sleeves. "I will!"

Sam threw his hands up over his face. "You wouldn't hit a kid!"

John rose to his feet. "Dean!"

Dean, who had been focusing all his energy into intimidating Sam with a glare, mournfully broke eye contact and looked up. "Yes sir?" he sighed.

"Get your brother to the car!" John shouted as he picked up his gun. He spun around looking for Leona before she threw any of them any where.

"But Daddy!" Sam turned towards John. "I don't wanna wait in the car! I wanna help!"

John sighed and rubbed small circles on his temple. "Okay, um… Finish digging the grave."

Sam looked over at the enormous pit in the ground that was nearly twice his height. His small hazel eyes widened. He looked back up at John. "Daddy, it's too deep."

"Dean." John looked over Sam. "Finish digging the grave."

Dean stuck out his lower lip as he grumbled, "Yes sir."

To Sam's horror and fascination, his fearless big brother dove into the pit. Sam leaned over the edge and called down to Dean. "You okay?"

Dean fumbled with the shovel that was nearly as tall as he was. He nodded vehemently and looked up at Sam. He gave him the thumbs up. "Easy as pie."

Dean struggled, but with Sam's small words of encouragement, lifted the rest of the loose dirt out of the grave. Sam pointed at the coffin lid. "Smash?" he asked tentatively.

Dean nodded with a smile and began to flick his lighter preemptively. Sam looked up as he heard the shotgun go off again. John jogged over to the grave and looked down. "Nice job guys."

"Thanks," Sam and Dean said in unison, "Jinx!"

Dean glared at Sam. Sam met his gaze with equal ferocity, but by the code of the ancients they were both forbidden to speak. Dean stuck his tongue out at Sam. Sam retaliated by holding his hands to either side of his head and wiggling his fingers rudely.

John held out his hand and helped Dean out of the pit. He took the shovel, and smashed the coffin lid. Sam's face scrunched up in disgust as they smelled all that was left of Leona Transkiy. "Who's got a lighter?" John asked.

He looked over at both his sons that were each solidly refusing to speak. To speak now was to admit weakness, and admit to being a baby. This was an unacceptable outcome to either of them. John sighed. "Dean, Sam, knock that crap out."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and continued to glare menacingly at Sam. "Just 'cause Dad said your name," he hissed in a low tone only they could hear, "Doesn't mean you're in the clear."

Sam inched closer to Dad. "Nah-uh." He said with false bravado.

Dean rolled his eyes. John cleared his throat. "Dean give me the lighter."

Dean held out the lighter as Sammy started to giggle. "Runt." Dean hissed.

Sammy stuck his tongue out. "Not for long!"

John pocketed the lighter and turned towards his duffle bag. John grabbed the can of lighter fluid that he'd set down by his duffle bag. As he unscrewed the cap, he looked up and saw Dean and Sam were wrestling again. "Dean, Sam!" John snapped.

"Yes sir?" Dean looked up.

"You've got terrible form." John reprimanded. "Sam, use your right hook, and notice he's weaker on his left side. Dean, use your fore arm to block."

Sam snickered. Dean fumed and turned back to Sam. "Knock it off!"

"Make me!" Sam chanted.

Dean pounced as John began to whistle. John poured the lighter fluid into the grave as they continued their scuffle. With a flick of the lighter the bones of Leona went up in flame. John turned towards the two boys.

He bent down and grabbed their shirt collars, holding them an arm's length apart. "Ready to go home?"

Sam pouted. "We were just having fun…"

Dean nodded and smiled. His sported a split lip proudly as he grinned.

John pulled them close to him. "Alright, come on. We'll go get ice cream."

Sam and Dean cheered. John ushered them towards the car with a grin. He wasn't the best hunter there was, but he was working at. With two kids running around things were slightly more difficult. But it was just a matter of working with what you had.

**.:The End:.**


End file.
